A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart
by BiasedRaincloud
Summary: The stains ran to the floor... Upon his skin, there were peculiar burns that followed the dips and curves of his muscles and bones. They were too neat to have been obtained naturally; forking off at specific ends across his naked body.
1. Tall Tales

**Author's Note:  
><strong>

**I apologise for the Author's Note as I don't usually do them. But, as it is my first fanfic in a while I wanted to say that I hope you enjoy!**

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><p><strong><span>A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart<span>  
><span>Chapter One: Tall Tales<span>  
><strong>

When someone begins to judge what he or she has lost, they must remember what they had. To have lost something, you must have obtained it in the first place; otherwise you never lost anything.

An elf lay in chains upon an altar tainted with aged blood. The stains ran to the floor, as though the blood had flown as freely as a river. Upon his skin, there were peculiar burns that followed the dips and curves of his muscles and bones. They were too neat to have been obtained naturally; forking off at specific points across his naked body, much like the tongue of a vicious snake and forming precise points at their ends. From the depth of the burns, the elf must have suffered excruciating pain during the process of creating them; the wounds raw and red.

Upon one of the four sandstone walls of the small, confined prison room, a small window high above the wall exposed the elves sun tanned skin to the moonlight, seeping out from behind the cloud cover. It roused the unconscious elf; he moved to sit upward before realising his shoulders and thighs were tied with leather bounds to the altar. Terror washed over the elf's face and newly formed sweat from his abject fear made his silvery-white hair cling to his forehead.

A man entered the room, forcing the door wide open and strutting confidently up to the elf. The man had aged ungracefully; his skin was blotched with dark red and purple spots, around his eyes and chin. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones prominent and his forehead littered with thin wrinkles. It appeared as though the man attempted to make himself appear nicer, by slicking back his dark grey hair and keeping his beard neat. But, the most unsettling feature of the man was his piercing grey eyes. The way he stared at the elf on the table was similar to a man looking at his son; possessive.

As the man sneered, the elf felt his fear turn to anger. The elf knew subconsciously that whatever had happened to him, it was because of this man. It sent his blood pumping through his veins, and in a flash, the burns that spread over his body shone with a vibrant blue. The elf felt power coursing through his veins as he resisted his bounds, letting a small snarl leave his mouth. The action and the rage burnt him, leaving him in incomprehensible pain, but the adrenaline pumping through his body kept him resilient.

The man calmly reached out and touched the elf on the forehead. In the blink of an eye, the markings over the elf's body returned to their raw state and the elf felt exhaustion hit him like a boulder.

"Ah, you have spirit!" the man said, laughter laced through his words, "you are my little wolf."

The elf only had the strength to glare at the man, but inside he felt… Compelled to listen to his words. The way that he spoke was persuasive, and the elf had no choice but to listen intently.

"From now on, you shall be called Fenris," the man said, before turning around and starting to walk from the room.

"W-who are you?" Fenris called after him, his voice weak and raspy and unable to hide the resentment he felt.

"I am Danarius; Magister of the Tevinter Imperium. Your master," he said, before closing the door heavily behind him.

Fenris remained, bewildered. _Master?_ He thought to himself, _master of what?_ He proceeded to mull over the words of Danarius, and was perplexed by a greater problem; _why can't I remember anything?_

It may have been minutes, or hours, after Danarius left that two men entered the room. Gruff looking, they appeared to be mercenaries. They approached the altar, releasing Fenris of his bonds and chucking clothes in his face. Under the careful scrutiny of the men, Fenris changed into the clothes given to him, barely better than rags. The dusty shirt and breeches contained multiple holes throughout the flimsy fabric. After Fenris had finished changing, the men pushed him towards the door. Despite his attempts to be free of them, Fenris realised that struggling was futile. They guided him through sinister halls, each appearing longer than the last. Upon the walls were intricate statues, carved to look like different Gods of Old. Occasionally, there were a few lamps hung upon the walls but for the most part the small group walked in darkness and silence before approaching a dormitory. With a rough push in the back, the men guided him into the room and to what he assumed was his bed.

_"_Sleep here," one of the men said simply, before both of the men disappeared again into the endless halls. As the door to the dormitory closed, Fenris glanced at the people around him. They were wide-eyed and scared; a majority of them elves, but there were a few dwarfs and humans. Men, women, children; the number of people cramped into this tiny room, each designated a small, thin, dirty bed roll, equated to about two dozen.

Fenris stared at his allocated sleeping space. He was between a large man who smelt like a pig and slept like one, and a small elf who refused to stop staring at Fenris and his abnormal markings. As Fenris sat down on his bedroll and lowered his head to look at the floor, the people around him began to whisper. He heard glimpses of, "who is he?" and "... is he?" Beside him, Fenris still felt the piercing eyes of the elf beside him.

"My condolences," the elf whispered to Fenris. The sound of his voice momentarily frightened Fenris and he reacted by snapping his head around to see the speaker, "we have not had a new one in a while."

"What do you mean?" Fenris asked. The sound of his deep voice still felt foreign to him.

"You are a slave," the elf replied, "to the Magister Danarius."

"W-what?" Fenris gaped, eyebrows knitted in frustration.

"You are currently within the slave's quarters of Danarius' mansion," the elf continued to explain, "welcome to hell."

"Oh, your hell has just begun," a woman said from the doorway. Behind her, more slaves carried in plates of food. Grabbing one from a slave, the woman approached Fenris. She wore robes of deep blue and green with complimenting make-up.

"Fenris, right?" the woman smirked, "I suppose you won't be needing this, then."

And, while the rest of the slaves were supplied with their food, the woman walked out with Fenris', leaving him suddenly starving and aggravated.

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><p>Sometimes, when Fenris lay down to sleep, he dreamed of the events that soon followed his awakening upon that altar. It was as far back in his life as he could remember. Fenris had always assumed the ritual that had grafted the lyrium into his skin had robbed his mind of the memories following that venture. He refused to believe that the only life he had ever known was one filled with abuse, slavery and Danarius.<p>

Danarius. The Magister and the blood mage. Fenris' intense distrust for magic had begun with his former slave master. As soon as Fenris had escaped Danarius' grasp at Seheron, he had realised that the power Danarius had over him was gone. The further away that he traveled, the less Fenris felt that he had to turn around and obey his master. Occasionally, Fenris had noticed the cuts surfacing over the Magister's arms, but he had thought little of it. Now, sleeping in a small, dingy room within the Hanged Man tavern in Kirkwall, Fenris finally understood why he had found Danarius so hard to refuse.

He was using blood magic to control Fenris.

While he slept, while he ate, while he entertained his master's guests, Danarius must have been watching for any sign of rebellion. As soon as it surfaced, he would pull in the reigns to prevent him from losing his greatest weapon. Fenris had felt the influence in Seheron, when Danarius ordered him to murder the Fog Warriors. The way that his words had drilled into his self-consciousness like a nail was not natural. Although Fenris had served Danarius for as long as he could remember, he never would have committed such an immoral act without first questioning it in his thoughts. It was the only explanation for how quickly he turned on those poor people, his friends.

What was in the past could not be changed, and Fenris realised that but that damned _mage _deserved to die. As he tossed and turned on the uncomfortable bed he had been provided with, he knew he was better off for now. Even better when he could hold Danarius' heart in his fist, and crush it within his hands.

Unable to sleep, Fenris decided to travel out to the bar to catch some gossip. Occasionally, people would talk about mercenaries and assassins from the Tevinter Imperium who searched for a weapon. While they had no idea what kind of weapon it was, Fenris knew that they were searching for him. Danarius would stop at nothing to be sure that his precious lyrium marked elf was under his control again.

Fenris ordered a drink from the barman, overhearing a rather boisterous dwarf in the corner.

"... and then, she took the ogre's head with her bare hands, and bashed it upon the stone!" the dwarf said, his hands moving to mimic the actions that he described. A bunch of men and women stood around him, mouths agape at what they were hearing.

"And you were there, Varric?" One of the men asked.

"Of course I was!" Varric defended, "how else would I be able to describe Hawke's triumphs with such detail?"

Some people gasped, while some whispered various questions to those seated around them about this "Hawke,' as Varric stood up from his seat and walked up beside Fenris to order a drink.

"It's hard to believe whether your stories are true," Fenris said offhandedly. Varric looked up upon the elf with a goofy grin on his face.

"As long as you keep their validity to yourself, I'll keep the stories coming," he said charismatically before taking his drink and returning to his seat. Fenris pondered on his words for a while. If such a person as Hawke existed, without the embellishment present within Varric's tales, they would be a handy companion if Fenris were to face his previous master. After hearing stories about her ever since arriving in Kirkwall, it wasn't hard to come to that assumption.

_No matter if she's as excellent as they say or a standard fighter, _Fenris thought, _I would take any help I could muster. _Fenris was not used to asking for help, or seeking it out;but, he knew that stepping out of the bounds of his comfort zone were necessary if he wished to be free of Danarius.

Under the frame of the front door, orange light shone through onto the dusty wooden floor boards. It was sunrise; time for Fenris to get to work. He placed his empty drink on the counter, besides a few silver sovereigns before exiting the Hanged Man. A few people were wandering about and some of the merchants were setting up their stalls for the day. Fenris wandered about, scouting his surroundings. He spotted a young female purchasing armour from the armour stand. As soon as she had passed over the money to the merchant, she handed it to an orange-haired beside her, dressed as one of the city guards.

The woman standing before the stall was intriguing to Fenris. She wore figure-hugging purple robes which easily reached to the ground and wielded a large, wooden staff across her back. From where Fenris was standing, he could only see her long and wavy black hair cascading down her shoulders and stopping at the tips of her shoulder blades.

"Thanks, Hawke," the woman said who had received the armour, "I'll be back soon."

As the other woman walked away, Fenris moved to a more inconspicuous spot while Hawke turned to talk to a man beside her. Fenris caught a glimpse of her face. Her skin was fair and flawless, adorned by minimal make-up. A straight cut fringe fell just below her eyebrows, enough that it did not fall into her eyes. She laughed at something the man said, and Fenris saw her azure blue eyes dancing with glee.

The man irked Fenris; something about the way he stood and talked made him stand on edge. He wore peculiar clothes; feathers spread across the shoulders of his clothes, while the rest was a combination of different materials to create a jacket, shirt and pants.

"Hawke! I have work for you," Varric yelled, running towards the pair, "a dwarf called Anso wants us to recover a "lost item."

"The way your eyes light up when there's the opportunity to make money amuses me," Hawke teased, "we are just waiting for Aveline."

As Hawke and Varric spoke, the man noticed Fenris watching the group and narrowed his eyes.

"What is it, Anders?" Hawke asked, as Fenris walked away from the armour stand. He felt the anger rise up within him at the sight of that man, yet he wasn't sure why.

"Nothing, I thought I saw someone watching us," Anders answered, slightly distracted.

As Fenris walked towards the Docks, to evade the suspicions of the odd man, he was slightly relieved that Hawke was the one to take Anso's job. All that was required now, was to wait for nightfall to recruit her skills and he would be free.


	2. Mage's Rage

**A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart**  
><strong>Chapter Two: Mage's Rage<br>**

Fenris gathered his thoughts as the hours past. It had seemed that time had slowed since discovering that Hawke would be the one to assist him in his venture. Fenris had seen beautiful women in the past, back in Danarius' mansion, but their narcissistic attitudes had made their exquisite features irrelevant. Hawke, however; Fenris held out the hope that Hawke would be different.

Fenris shook his head, pushing away such idle fancies. As Fenris saw the first bit of moonlight filter in through the window of his rented room, he prepared himself for the night's adventure. He strapped his sword to his back, pulled on his spiked gauntlets and charged out of the Hanged Man; past the drunk patrons, the barman and out into the silent streets of Lowtown.

Fenris headed hurriedly towards the Alienage, hearing the clattering of swords on swords. His mind bubbled with the potential situations Hawke and her companions might be finding themselves in, and he set off towards his destination more hastily than before, his armour clattering loudly. Despite the incapable mercenaries Fenris had fought off recently, he knew that sheer numbers could overwhelm even the most skilled.

A man was addressing Hawke's company as Fenris reached the Alienage. He was standing proud and talking like he was their superior. Without hesitation, Fenris channeled the powers granted through his lyrium markings and plunged his hand through the man's chest, seizing his heart within his hands and crushing it instantly. Fenris retracted his hand, and the man fell limply as a bloody, gory mess.

"Who goes there?" Hawke called, her eyebrows slanted inwards in suspicion. She wielded her staff before her defensively, moving her right foot forward into a more protective stance. Beside her, Anders glared at the elf but stood calmly, as though he assumed that Fenris was not a threat. Around the party lay the bodies of each of the mercenaries that had entered the Alienage.

"I thank you for helping me with these men," Fenris explained, eager to calm his potential ally, "the elf that they seek is I."

"Broody?" Varric called from behind Hawke, "who knew. You always should be careful of the quiet ones."

"You know him?" Hawke asked Varric, relaxing slightly at her partner's recognition of Fenris.

"Yeah. Lives at the Hanged Man, likes to make comments about the stories I tell the patrons," Varric said offhandedly, "I don't think he believes me, most of the time. Rightfully so, I say."

"And what stories are you sprouting about the city now, Varric?" Anders asked, almost sardonically.

"Just the tales of Hawke, the Ogre Extrordinare of course," Varric said, with a large grin on his face, "they believe every word. I could tell them that Hawke has only three toes, amputated devil's horns from her head when she hit puberty, dated an exotic elf form Antiva and had been born with skin the same colour of an elfroot plant, and they would only question whether or not she is still taken."

"I must ask a favour of you," Fenris said, changing the topic after a brief moment of silence, "but the way that you executed these hired hands makes me inclined to ask if you will assist me. I don't usually ask for help, but this is not a usual venture."

"If it involves working with slavers, blood mages or religious zealots, I refuse," Hawke said playfully.

"I assure you it does not," Fenris replied, "I cannot explain much, I just require your assistance. Questions can be explained later."

"How can we know you're telling the truth?" Anders asked flatly, with a look of pure distaste on his face.

"You do not," Fenris replied, "but I can give you what money I have in return for your assistance."

"I am in!" Hawke said, a giant grin on her face. The transition of her moods from suspicious to cheerfully astounded Fenris. The way that she trusted him, a complete stranger, was an utter contrast to Fenris' own nature. Having someone so openly supporting him made Fenris slightly nervous; was he worthy of Hawke's trust; the trust of a renowned member of society?

Pulling himself out of his momentary lapse of concentration, Fenris bowed his head in thanks and said: "meet me in Hightown as soon as you can," before rushing away from the party.

As he left, he heard Anders whisper to Hawke, "he looks dangerous, are you sure you trust him?"

Fenris had left before he heard her reply, but he simply hoped with every fibre of his being that Hawke would follow through and assist him on his plight. Tonight was the night that Fenris became a free man, and he would not allow a cynical, judgemental man to ruin his only chance at salvation.

Fenris' steps grew heavy at this thought. Tonight was the night where his life would begin anew, the night that he could prepare for a future that did not revolve around running, hiding or fighting for his life. He would be able to do all of the things that the people in this city were free to do.

_Except the elves of the Alienage,_ Fenris realised. The men and women who lived in the Alienage held onto the brief hope that they could incorperate the lives of their ancestors into a town filled with humans, dwarves and even other elves that did not believe as they did. Although Fenris knew about the prejudice towards the elves, and how it would be nearly impossible for elves to live within cities besides humans, he resented the Alienages. He felt that living in a place like that, was like allowing yourself to succumb to the same kind of slavery that Fenris endured. While the elves in Kirkwall's Alienage were no longer slaves, they were treated like scum.

Fenris had heard of the Alienage within Denerim, in Fereldan, through a multitude of Danarius' house guests. The guards, _human_ guards barred the gates to the Alienage there; no one was allowed in or out for quite a long time. The same could happen in Kirkwall, as the streets were specifically designed so that certain areas could be blocked off with ease.

As Fenris approached the front of Danarius' mansion, his thoughts about the Alienages halted. The night was still; the men and women of Hightown were tucked away in their comfortable beds, unaware of the events passing behind their shuttered windows. The sounds of hurried footsteps echoed off the stone steps behind Fenris.

"Too early for you?" Hawke said cheekily, a smirk lighting up her facial features, hidden beneath the dim moonlight. The sound of her voice brought Fenris out of his reverie and he focused immediately on what was to come. Behind Hawke, Anders and Varric followed closely and appeared to be exhausted.

"Hawke, sometimes you just need to slow down," Anders said, puffing heavily as he rested his hands on his knees. Hawke's reply to his comment was a larger smirk than before.

"What are we up against, Broody?" Varric said, the slightest hint of exhaustion in his voice.

"It is a man named Danarius. While we are inside, any manner of demon may attack us. My previous master enjoys working with his blood and the malevolent demons of the Fade," Fenris explained. The group seemed to absorb the information, although Hawke appeared slightly puzzled about something.

"You were a slave?" Hawke asked curiously.

"Yes. These markings are not just for show, either," Fenris spat, hatred clear in the tone of his voice. If Hawke was offended by Fenris' attitude, she did not question or state it; she simply nodded her head in acceptance.

As his heart beat heavily within his chest, Fenris ran forward and thrust open the door to Danarius' mansion. Before him, the room was oddly quiet and littered with broken furniture and floor tiles.

"Danarius! I know you are here!" Fenris shouted, piercing the unsettling silence. As the party moved through to the next room, in the same state as the one they had initially entered, shades formed from dark pools on the ground. Their twisted and gnarled dark bodies formed into gruesome monsters, their eyes glowing brighter than the torches hung upon the walls around them. A series of gurgles and screeches came from the damned creatures.

Fenris grasped the hilt of his large, two-handed sword and roared as he charged at the abomination. But, just before he reached it, a ball of magical fire disintegrated the shade. Fenris whipped his head around to see the source of the spell, and saw Hawke, staff in hand, sending spells of fire and ice towards their enemies.

Fenris felt his repressed anger bubble and boil at the sight. Hawke, a _mage? _He cursed himself over and over. He should have known. Redirecting his anger, he charged straight into the middle of a larger group of shades, injuring himself in the process.

Fenris felt a strange feeling wash over him, and he shivered slightly; feeling all of his pain fade away. Someone had healed him. Casting a quick glare at Anders, he noticed the mans staff had briefly pointed towards him, before focusing on the enemies again.

_More mages! _Fenris thought angrily. He, too, then chose to focus his attention on the shades.

Traveling through the mansion, the party found little more than loot and shades. When they reached the uppermost room of the mansion, a fire still alive in the hearth and books scattered across the desk, Fenris felt defeated.

"Danarius is not here," Fenris stated. The silence that passed over the group was unsettling. Being in such a dilapidated mansion, with the absence of the noises of living creatures made the place feel very eerie.

"Thanks for the memo, Broody," Varric said jokingly. He, Anders and Hawke scoured the room for anything of use or value, while Fenris pondered his company.

He had the assistance of two mages; magic being the thing that had repressed him during his years as a slave. Fenris felt wrong, and angry; _I should have seen it!_

"Danarius may well have left his treasures behind. They are yours. I think... I need some air," Fenris stated, shaking his head. The group looked at him with puzzled expressions as he charged out of the mansion.

His anger was like an itch beneath his skin. He felt the lyrium within his body spark and jolt, eager to engage and provide Fenris with the means to take on the world.

_One... Two... Three... _Fenris counted, closing his eyes and clenching his fists tightly. If he did not calm himself, he would lose control and anger was not a good emotion for fueling one's actions.

When Fenris felt himself calm down; his heart rate slowed, his breathing became lighter and he no longer needed to tense his fist, he relaxed his tense muscles. The door to the mansion burst open, revealing Hawke, Anders and Varric.

"While I was a slave, magic plagued me at every turn. I escaped to get away form magic, to find myself in the company of even more _mages_," Fenris said bitterly.

"You watch your mouth, elf," Anders spat.

With a quick glare at Anders, Fenris addressed the visually hurt Hawke: "I apologise if I appear ungrateful. For that is far from the truth."

"It is starting to seem like it," Hawke bit back. Varric looked at each person individually, a lost look on his face.

"Every mage is exposed to constant temptation. Tell me: what is your main ambition?" Fenris demanded.

"To protect my family," Hawke said diplomatically, "everything that I do, is to protect them!"

Silence again passed over the group. Anders stood defiantly between Hawke and Fenris, protecting her from a possible outburst. Varric, standing awkwardly to the side, decided to keep out of the conversation. Hawke continued to make eye contact with Fenris. He hadn't noticed earlier, but her eyes shone vibrantly, even in the dim lighting. He felt himself calming down, and collected his thoughts.

"Here is what money I have," he said and passed a coin pouch to Hawke before heading towards the mansion door. Without looking behind him, he slammed the door and entered Danarius' residence with one thought on his mind: why had the look of hurt on Hawke's face hurt him, too?


	3. Always the Flatterer

**A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart**  
><strong>Chapter Three: Always the Flatterer<strong>

Fenris paced the room anxiously. Following his quick departure from Hawke and her companions, he found he could not relax. Sleep would not come to him, despite the exhaustion he felt. He replayed his words over and over again.

Hawke was a mage; granted magical abilities similar to those that had haunted Fenris for as long as he could remember. He understood them, but he saw what the temptation of demons and power did to a mage, if presented to the right situation. Even the most honest mage could turn to blood magic if in a desperate situation.

Fenris held his head in his hands. He wanted to believe that Hawke would not stoop to that level, but he could not be sure. He barely knew her.

A loud knock echoed throughout the building and Fenris leaped for his sword, leaning against the wall. His eyes fixed to the exit, he moved slowly, poised for battle. From atop the stairs of the main room, he had a clear view of each of the entries. After a few moments of silence, Fenris was confused; if someone was after him, they would have attacked him already.

Then, the grand door opened slowly and someone walked in, with a sodden cloak guarding their clothes.

"Leave, now," Fenris shouted to the stranger, "you are not welcome."

With one fluid movement, the person lifted the hood of the cloak from their head. Fenris noticed the familliar face.

"Hawke?" Fenris asked, slowly letting down his guard.

"I'm sorry to barge in," Hawke started, "I just needed to talk to you about something."

Fenris noticed that she was shivering a great deal. From how heavily soaked her clothes were, he assumed that it was raining hard outside. Sure enough, Fenris listened carefully and he could hear the pitter patter of rain drops belting down on the roof tiles above. Being distracted by his thoughts, Fenris had failed to pay attention to his surroundings.

"Come up here, there's a fire," he said before turning around to retreat to the warm study. He heard Hawke scurry up the steps behind him and close the door as she entered.

"Thank you," she said shyly. She lifted the cloak off of her, placing it gently over the arm of a chair, "how are you finding it here?"

"Damp. And I am plagued by the constant smell of dead bodies," Fenris replied, sitting in the chair closest to the fire. Hawke took up the seat adjacent, wringing her hair of as much water as she could.

"You could always dispose of them," Hawke said coyly. Fenris gave a small chuckle at her suggestion.

"I suppose I could," Fenris said lightly. He found himself enjoying her company but, as he saw her staff leaning against the closed door, he remembered why he had been so angry.

"I wanted to ask you something, Fenris," Hawke said shyly, a sombre look on her face, "I am in need of capable companions for an expedition into the Deep Roads. I think you could be of great help, and I want to help you be rid of this... Danarius."

"I..." Fenris started, shocked and contemplative at her request. He stood up, standing with one hand on the mantelpiece, one on his forehead. Fenris knew he needed the help, if he was to kill Danarius. But could he work with Hawke, and that viper-tongued Anders, knowing that they were both mages?

"I know my... skills," Hawke started, giving a sideways glance at her staff, "bother you. But, are you willing to look past that, to work with me?"

"As a slave, I witnessed countless deaths at the hands of my master, a _Magister_. The power of the demons lay in his blood, as it lies in yours. How can I be sure that you will be any better than him, or any other mage I've met in my life?

"Well, then come with me to keep me in check?" Hawke smirked, "they always say keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

The lightness of her tone, and the devious smirk on her face made Fenris grin weakly. Despite the severity of their conversation, he couldn't help but be amused by her words.

"On a more serious note," Hawke said, "I have no intentions of dabbling with blood magic. If I do, you have permission to do as you like and I will excuse you from my companionship."

Fenris pondered again on her offer. He tried to find reasons for not joining her, besides her magical abilities, but he could not find any. She had put in the effort to seek him out to recruit him, showing how, she too, was in need of help. In the future, Fenris knew that there would betimes when they would just not agree, however right now, as she sat there staring at him with a sweet smile, he felt compelled to trust her.

"I accept."

The way that Hawke grinned at his response made his heart skipped. Her features brightened and her eyes crinkled in delight. Fenris smiled at her again, before realising that he had done a lot of smiling during their meeting.

"Thank you," Hawke said, "tomorrow, I'll introduce you to the rest of the group. A few you have met."

"How many companions do you have?"

"Oh, a few," Hawke grinned, "six in total."

Fenris shook his head and Hawke laughed.

"I do need to tell you about one, though, and you won't like it," Hawke started, the grin stripped from her face. Fenris stared at her, waiting to hear the story.

"It's a Dalish Elf called Merrill. She is a bit... Naive, and immature. She's around for pity more than anything. She... Is a blood mage."

"You associate with blood mages?" Fenris spat out.

"No, you don't understand. Her Keeper asked us to take care of her. Her... Ignorance could prove deadly. I'd rather her be kept under my watch, then out on her own and left to her own devices."

"I... Guess that's fair," Fenris agreed, as she had spoken logically, "I appreciate you telling me now. Though, I cannot promise that I will be... Accommodating."

"As long as you do not kill each other, I'm happy," Hawke said, the grin returning to her face. Fenris stared at her, perplexed by her features, mainly her eyes. They were so... caring, joyous. They mesmerised him.

"If I knew Anso would find someone so capable, I would have looked sooner," Fenris said politely.

"Maybe Anso is the one I should be thanking," Hawke flirted, giving him a slight smirk, causing Fenris to laugh.

"Perhaps I shall practice my flattery for your next visit?" Fenris said, smirking back at her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: I'm sorry it's shorter than usual. I'll make it up to you, I promise!<strong>


	4. Restrained for Powder

**I apologise for the wait, I have bene quite caught up in my studies and haven't had a lot of time to write. Feel free to drop any hints or pointers to me, in case something isn't going to plan, a character isn't working for you or if I just suck. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart<strong>  
><strong>Chapter Four - Restrained for Powder<strong>

Fenris stood awkwardly before the stalls in Lowtown, just beside the Hanged Man, the eyes of each of Hawke's companions watching his every move. Never had Fenris felt so exposed as he did here. A woman, scantily-clad with various knifes placed around her body stood with her arms crossed and a smirk upon her face. Her brown locks were held back from her face by a thick and patterned blue bandana, adorned with little gold hangings. It was impossible not to notice her large breasts, as they protruded from the lace-up front of her shirt. Coupled with the amount of her legs she showed, Fenris assumed she was very... Comfortable, with herself. And with many men. _Did she just wink at me?_

Fenris recognised Varric, Aveline, Anders and Hawke; the flirtatious woman he had not seen before, neither had he seen the petite elf woman and the taller, clean-shaven man before him. He could easily assume that the elf woman was the blood mage, but he nearly doubted his better judgement; she was so small, so fragile. The idea that this woman, not old enough to have experienced much in this world, was fraternising with demons highlighted her naivety and immaturity. Fenris immediately developed feelings of hostility toward her, now that he could identify the little scum.

The first thing he noticed about the man was his piercing blue eyes. He stood proudly, almost arrogantly, like he held a position of great power. He wore clothes and armour that displayed his agile features. His brown hair was neatly pulled back; practical. Without any justification, Fenris assumed that this man could be very coercive; the aura of his presence was so demanding and persuasive.

"Why, hello there," the promiscuous woman flirted, walking up to Fenris and stroking his arm. Fenris stood stock still; afraid to move, unless she got the wrong idea.

"Isabella, you'll scare him off!" Varric yelled jokingly to the woman. She turned around to him and grinned.

"Hey, I was just teasing!" She chuckled, "I am Isabella; no title."

"I am Sebastian, nice to make your acquaintance," the taller man introduced before extending his hand, which Fenris shook firmly.

"Fenris," he let out, nodding his head politely.

"And I am Merrill," the elf woman introduced quickly, "I trust you've met the others. Lovely bunch they are. Oh, I'll be quiet."

Fenris gave a sharp, short nod, though his instinct told him to simply ignore her presence.

"Now that the introductions are done," Hawke started, "we must work out what is on the agenda today."

"Don't ask us, you're the one leading us," Varric said playfully.

"Me? I'm not the leader of this merry bunch of misfits," Hawke replied sarcastically, but her face showed that she was deep in thought, "there is a few more things we have to do before we have the money for our expedition..."

"I think I saw some people shouting about a mine of some sort, up in Hightown," Varric explained.

"And I saw some shady men hanging around Sundermount. Might need to check out what they are doing," Isabella inputted.

"Isabella, Merrill, Aveline and Sebastian; you can go to Sundermount. Work out what is going on. Varric, Fenris and Anders; you come with me. Varric I'm going to need you to show me where-"

"Hawke!" a man yelled and Fenris saw Hawke sigh exasperatedly, "Marian!"

"What, Carver?" Hawke shouted back irritatedly.

A man approached the group at a sprint, his short black hair a mess. The resemblance between Hawke and Carver was unmissable; if not her brother, he was a close relative, Fenris guessed. Gathering his breath, the man looked Hawke in the eye with determination and arrogance.

"I want to go with you," Carver employed almost desperately.

"No," Hawke replied, as blunt as she was capable.

"I'm not a child, nor are you my mother; let me come with you," Carver raged, keeping his face stern and resilient.

"I do not care whether you are four or forty; you are not coming with me," Hawke said, eyebrows knitted in frustration. After a brief glare, Carver stormed away.

"I don't mean to pry, but the boy could use some time outside," Varric started, "he needs to learn to play nice with the other children. Or in the case of thugs and mercenaries, beat them to death."

"I don't want to babysit him," Hawke argued, "Mother will hold me responsible if anything happens to him while he is under my orders. One thing that the Blight and my life in Kirkwall has taught me is that you can't look after everyone. It's a lot easier to protect someone if they're never exposed to danger."

Fenris noticed the unmistakeable undertone of sadness in Hawke's voice. Fenris found himself curious as to what misfortune in Hawke's life would lead her to protect her brother with such vigour. As far as Fenris knew, Hawke had arrived in Kirkwall with her family, fleeing the Blight in Fereldan. The minor details of the trip were unknown to him. Fenris was pulled form his thoughts at Hawke's request to move onward.

* * *

><p>Nearing the conclusion of the day, the sky alive with the vibrant reds of the sunset, Hawke, Varric, Anders and Fenris trudged toward the Hanged Man; exhausted and eager for a drink. Isabella sent word that she had captured a dwarf named Javaris on Sundermount, who claimed to be after the Qunari's "explosion powder." She had brought him in on the basis of character, as he had appeared to her to be a shady fellow. She waited with the dwarf in their regular drinking place, most likely keeping him restrained to Varric's room.<p>

The party had seen little excitement during the day, as opposed to some business up at the Bone Pit mines. It appeared that dragons had invaded the mines and terrorised the workers. The party had barely said a word to each other over the course of the mission; not because of distaste or irritation, but from concentration on the task ahead. Now, running on their last reserves of energy, they barely had the strength to talk; only to continue until they were given a chance to rest.

Fenris, while outwardly beaten, found he felt energised. The thrill of battling beasts pulsed adrenaline through his veins. His pent-up emotions could be channeled into battling the things that stood in the way of his and the party's objective. Even being surrounded by magic and mages throughout the day had barely phased him; he could focus his thoughts on one thing, and one thing only. That was getting the job done. He never forgot about the things that troubled him, but the battle and the mission had temporarily distracted him and given him and alternate way of dealing with his thoughts.

It seemed like hours before the party reached the front doors of the Hanged Man. Swinging it open carelessly, the party wandered in; past the usual patrons and roudy drunkards, to the rooms located at the back of the tavern. After closing the door behind the group, Fenris finally got a look at Varric's room. It was as luxurious a room as a tavern could supply and yet quite practical. Fenris almost felt jealous; the bed looked comfortable, Varric had his own personal table and chairs... And a grumpy, red-faced dwarf tied up against one wall, his mouth stuffed with a piece of cloth.

"Nice work Isabella," Hawke sighed, before collapsing into one of the wooden dining chairs. Varric and Anders soon followed, leaving Fenris leaning against a wall near the exit.

"What can I say? I am resourceful," Isabella suggested playfully, before changing the tone of her features to attain a more serious nature, "after saving this dwarf from mercenaries, he rambled about how he wanted to get some non-magic exploding dust, or some crap. I thought he was mad, he even tried to hire me as help. So I brought him here, for you to sort out."

"Thanks Rivaini. Next time, could you keep him out of my room? You do have a place of your own," Varric joked.

At the sound of the people's voices, the dwarf looked with wide eyes to the rest of the group, struggling against his binds.

"They're tighter than a Revered Mother's legs, Javaris. There's no use fighting against them," Isabella informed, with the slightest hint of playfulness in her tone. Javaris just continued to stare at her, wide-eyed and shocked. He flailed his arms around, trying desperately to be free.

Hawke, regaining some energy, stood up with a stern look on her face. She approached the restrained dwarf with arms crossed, exerting her dominance. She went to bend down to undo his binds, but not before whispering in his ear: "If you scream or run, I will just tie you up again."

After the rope was gone, and the cloth removed from his mouth, Javaris seemed to calm.

"If you told me this morning I'd be kidnapped, I'd probably have believed you," Javaris sighed.

"What is this powder or dust that you are talking about?" Hawke questioned, towering over the dwarf.

"The Qunari have it, just like I told your little mynx friend," Javaris started, casting a glare at Isabella, "it doesn't require any magic; no tricks, it just works. It's in high demand around these parts. But the damned Arishok refuses to sell."

"So how were you planning to get it from him?" Hawke said, articulating each of her words clearly. She grew suspicious; Fenris could see it in her eyes.

"If I got rid of something, or someone, he didn't like; I figured I'd get favour for it!" Javaris proclaimed, a grin spread across his face.

"That being?" Hawke continued.

"The Tal Vashoth! If you help me get rid of them, I can pay you."

Hawke pondered the idea. The party still needed the fifty sovereigns for the Deep Roads expedition, and they were so close as it was. The idea of earning more money, so close to their goal, was tempting.

"Go, Javaris. We'll send word with our answer," Hawke stated, pointing toward the door. The dwarf bolted away, not caring to cast a glance back at the party.

"Thoughts?" Hawke sighed tiredly, collapsing back into one of the chairs.

"I don't know," Varric started, "maybe it's the dwarf in me, but I couldn't see him leading us astray at the cost of lying about profit."

"This powder..." Anders started, "is it really that good?"

"I don't know," Hawke said, "but there's only one way to find out. It could be the last thing we need to do before we have the money for the expedition."

"That would be nice..." Varric said, the way his words trailed off indicating a day dream of sorts.

"I'm not sure the Arishok would agree," Fenris started. His silence throughout the meeting had caused most of the people in the room to forget his presence, snapping their heads back in surprise, "I know a little of the Qunari culture. Unless he promised it, I'm not sure that he would agree to handing something over."

"True... But, we would be paid regardless," Isabella pondered, "it's his loss if they don't supply."

"All agreed?" Hawke questioned, and was received with nods from all round, "perfect. I'll leave you to your own devices, I'm going to head home. I need sleep."

"I'll come with you," Anders called after her, following her as she left the room. Fenris watched the two leave, with a slight pang of jealousy. The way that Anders stared at Hawke so softly, like looking upon a kitten, baby or puppy. It left Fenris questioning the exact relationship between the two.

"I bid you my leave," Fenris nodded to Isabella and Varric, the only two remaining before walking out of Varric's room. He trudged through the tavern, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and various other odours. As he opened the door to Lowtown, the clean, brisk night air was a small relief to him. Before him, a while away, Hawke and Anders walked toward Hawke's home. Anders had his arms wide, seeming to exaggerate whatever grand story he was telling. But it appeared his story fell on deaf ears, as Hawke did not appear to be listening very intently. She looked away from him, her arms crossed defensively. Something was plaguing her, and Fenris felt the familliar pang of curiosity hit him like a tonne of bricks.


	5. Clinic Brawl

**A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart**  
><strong>Chapter Five - Clinic Brawl<br>**

Fenris trudged through the streets of Hightown, the moonlight giving the rich district an unusual feel. His mind was plagued by thoughts and images of Hawke's disturbed face. Despite the little time that they had spent together, Fenris found that he had grown attached to her company, and seeing her visibly upset affected him, and he wanted to do something about it. He approached the door to the mansion, swung the door wide and listened for the loud bang as it closed behind him.

Even though Hawke's image prevailed in his thoughts, the overwhelming exhaustion he felt sent him straight to bed.

Seeming to have only closed his eyes for a moment, he awoke to someone, presumably Hawke, knocking upon the mansion's front door. Through the small cracks within the walls of the mansion, the light of early morning flooded in, illuminating parts of the room. Fenris hurriedly headed for the door, dressing himself with his armour as he walked but Hawke had already let herself in, a small grin across her face. Fenris couldn't help but flash her a small smile of his own as he pulled his last piece of armour over his head and set it across his shoulders.

"It's just tying up loose ends today. We have enough money for the expedition, now I need to decide who will come with me," Hawke said happily. Fenris bowed slightly to her in politeness.

"I offer my services for your expedition, should you need them," Fenris said sincerely.

"I may take you up on that offer," Hawke winked, before indicating that she wished to leave. She walked proudly out of the dilapidated mansion, Fenris close behind her. Hawke hastily moed ahead, edging for Fenris to join her by her side. With a small jog, he caught up to her as they headed for the Viscount's Keep. The nobles standing around in the hall gazed quizzically at the pair as they charged into the keep. Seemingly oblivious to the questioning stares, Hawke walked straight through the crowd of pompous men and women to the Guard's rooms, where Aveline waited for them.

"I trust you dealt with Javaris?" Aveline called.

"Yes, Isabella, Varric and Anders assisted me in defeating the Tal Vashoth. The Arishok made sure we were paid, but Javaris did not obtain his powder," Hawke conveyed., "just as Fenris had foreseen."

"That's one less dwarf with too much power in his hands," Aveline jested as she approached Fenris and Hawke. Turning on their heels, the group headed again through the curious nobles and out into Hightown once more. Before them, Varric and Isabella stood in deep discussion on the steps of the Keep.

"Now, I say that novels should include a certain... Velocity," Varric explained profoundly, "you have to keep the reader interested. It's not like sex; the longer it is doesn't always make it better."

"Maybe for some," Isabella teased, "I bet you never have issues with ti-"

"Is this conversation appropriate?" Hawke asked jokingly, interjecting the suggestive comment that was likely to come from the rouge before her.

"Very. You have to ensure the reader of an elegant novel is pleased," Isabella stated, emphasising the word elegant, "just like a lover or casual sex partner. It's all related."

Hawke pressed her hand to her forehead, suppressing a laugh as she shook her head while Varric let out a hearty chuckle.

"I wonder about you," Aveline speculated, the corners of her mouth twitching into a slight smile. Fenris observed the conversation curiously; all of the people present were comfortable around each other, able to communicate any manner of topic to a member of their tight-knit group.

"I suppose we should fetch Anders," Hawke started, beginning a new topic of conversation amidst the comfortable silence that had fallen over the group, "Merrill and Sebastian too. We have to decide who will go on the Expedition."

"To the slum of slums; Darktown, here we come!" Varric yelled, his voice thick with sarcasm.

* * *

><p>The trip to Ander's clinic was uneventful, aside from random homeless people begging for coin on their way. Each person that addressed Hawke, pleading with her to spare some money, she gave them all that she could afford to. This act of compassion showed Fenris how soft Hawke could be towards those who needed it. After seeing her react to bandits and mercenaries, dispatching them at will without a second thought, the caring side to Hawke's nature was nice to see. The way that her eyes lit up as people, especially children, grinned at her and thanked her profusely for her generosity made Fenris himself feel proud of his companion.<p>

The word puzzled him; companion. Did the word entail a friendship? Or was it simply a person who is around for company? Admittedly, Fenris had had little experience with friends, or anything more than enemies. Before Hawke, his life had been filled with devious Magisters, shy slaves and bloody mercenaries. Never had Fenris considered himself capable of having friends, much less companions. Even Aveline, Isabella, Varric and Sebastian made him feel welcome within their mismatched group of fighters. The only people he felt that did not appreciate his company were Anders and Merrill.

Merrill. Each time he saw her, he felt like engaging his lyrium powers and pulling her heart from her chest. The extent of her immaturity was masked during his first meeting, but by the fleeting moments that he had seen her conversing with others and talking to the party, he began to realise that she was just a monster. He barely attempted to hide his disdain for her, although he knew the polite thing to do would be to keep his violent opinions to himself.

As for Anders, something seemed off about him. He seemed almost regal at times, otherworldly; and other times, he relaxed into a careless mage seeking to save all mages and rescue kittens. It seemed as though he was two people, who often contradicted each other on various occasions. By working with him the previous day, his dual nature had become apparent to him, though his other party members appeared to not notice it. Fenris wondered if he were possessed, but the thought quickly left him, as he had shown no obvious signs to him.

Hawke stepped proudly into the clinic, the other members of her party trailing in behind her. As Anders looked up from his desk at the opposite end of the room, his eyes brightened and a wide grin spread across his face. Hawke returned his joyous reaction to her arrival with a slight grin of her own. Fenris studied the encounter; the inclination of a possible romance between the two wriggled its way into his mind disturbingly. It affected him slightly, sent his knees weak and his teeth clenched, but he was not sure why.

"Hawke!" Anders yelled excitedly, spreading his arms wide.

"Anders," Hawke nodded politely. Varric, Aveline and Varric stood awkwardly behind her, seemingly feeling out of place.

"I need to talk to you," Anders started, his tone changing to one of sincerity. Hawke again nodded to him, and they walked away to the opposite end of the Clinic, hiding themselves behind a privacy screen. Fenris leaned against a wooden post, hearing the moans of the peacefully sleeping patients lying in their make-shift beds around him. Despite Fenris' distrust for magic, he had to appreciate the usefulness of it as a way to keep people alive. Sometimes a wound is too hard to heal by a potion, and magic would come in handy. Yet again, this usefulness would almost definitely transform into a need for more power, and lead mages down the dark path of demons and blood magic; something that was inexcusable in Fenris' eyes.

Fenris' ears pricked as he heard Hawke and Anders' conversation. Somehow, in his concentration, he had managed to focus on their voices, and was able to hear what they were saying.

"The Templar's are growing more suspicious," Anders said worryingly, "there have been many random visits of late, often very close-calls. I've been lucky that so many people don't want me to get caught, and they are willing to warn me."

"Don't worry, Anders. You aren't going anywhere," Hawke comforted.

"It's not me I'm worried about, it's you. I don't know what I'd do if I lost-"

Fenris' eavesdropping was interrupted by Isabella poking him in the ribs. Each time she jabbed, Fenris flinched slightly, the contact uncalled for.

"What?" Fenris demanded and Isabella feigned hurt.

Whatever Isabella was about to say was cut off by the sudden arrival of Templars at the doors to the Clinic. Their helmets were pulled on over their faces and their swords were drawn.

"Apostate, show yourself!" one of the six Templars yelled, the metallic ringing of his voice behind his helmet unsettled all people present. The sick people, previously sleeping, cowered against the wall, as the Templar's blocked the entrance. Fenris kept one hand on his sword, ready for combat, as were Varric and Isabella. Anders strutted out form behind the privacy curtain, with Hawke behind him clenching her staff and ready to fight.

"Leave," Anders demanded, but the Templars made no move to leave.

"I said, leave!" Anders yelled, his voice now layered over with a deeper, vibrant cyan mist stemming from his eyes, the irises devoid of colour. The mist spread around Anders and channeled a burst from his hands, sending a strong force against the Templars. Each one was blown off their feet in a dazzling display of lights.

Fenris bubbled over with anger. The tell-tale signs of possession were dancing and prancing before him, making a flashy show with lights and tricks. Fenris grasped his sword tightly, pulling it before him.

"You're an abomination," Fenris called, Anders' eyes glaring the elf down.

"You're a pathetic slave, what is your point?" Anders yelled, layered with the voice of whatever demon possessed him. He faced himself toward Hawke, directing a command at her: "Wipe their minds."

Hawke, suspiciously, walked over to the Templars and cast a spell. Fenris felt the pull of magic over in her direction, but he did not dare take his eyes off of Anders before him.

"You mages are all the same. What was it for, abomination? Power? Riches? Women? Whatever other useless reason you can think of?" Fenris lectured, his voice laced with anger.

"Better than living with the shackles you wear, elf," Anders spat. Fenris' anger deepened.

"Shut it, demon!" Fenris shouted. Fenris felt his lyrium markings burn, igniting beneath his skin; vibrant as the mist that surrounded Anders. Fenris felt the rise of power; he remembered how it felt to have unlimited potential, "I will end you."

Hawke bounded from her place beside the Templars as Anders and Fenris braced for battle.

"Stop your useless fighting," Hawke demanded, stepping between the pair and sending a Force spell on both. Fenris plummeted into the central door of the Clinic, beside the unconscious Templars, while Anders fell onto a desk, breaking it in half.

"That was intense," Varric said, a shocked expression on his face.

"Remind me not to step on her toes," Isabella jested, whistling impressively.

"There are more problems in the world than your petty battles of opinion," Hawke stated, glaring at the two fallen men. Fenris noticed the look in her eyes; she was both hurt and angry. The look on her face shamed him and he looked away. He didn't know how he could even begin to explain anything to her, so he ran. No explanation required.


	6. Quick Response

**A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart  
>Chapter Six - Quick Response<br>**

Fenris trudged desperately through the Wounded Coast, laying siege upon any bandits that he came across. In a blind fury, he dispatched them without a second thought. He tried to vent his troubles, to make the image of Hawke's face disappear from his mind where it had been so carefully etched. But his effort was futile; the look of utter disappointment was not erased from his thoughts.

Fenris ran his sword through the last of the bandits before re-strapping his sword to his back. He quickly looked at his hands to see that they were speckled with blood._ I need to wash_, Fenris thought, as he felt the blood cake on his hands and over his body. Turning defiantly, he headed home.

"Wait, help me!" a fragile woman called after him. Fenris turned to her, noticing her downtrodden appearance and tattered clothes.

"They are dead, you can go home," Fenris called, a slight hint of bluntness in his tone. The woman stared dismally at the ground before answering.

"I can't. I don't have a home," the woman whimpered, "I am but a slave, and they were my masters."

Fenris twitched in anger. Outside of the Imperium, he never expected to see another slave. _Perhaps I had doubted the true corruption of men_, Fenris thought to himself.

"I can get you to Kirkwall, but that is as far as I can go. You will have to start your life from there."

"Oh, thank you sir!" the woman graciously applauded him, "I must do something for you in return! I have no money, but perhaps I can offer you something?"

The woman winked at him. Looking past the awkwardness of the situation, Fenris spotted wounds around her wrists and her ankles and blood gathered around her legs. This woman had been subjected to the biological urges of the monsters Fenris had murdered, yet her first instinct was to offer him sexual favours. With a scoff, Fenris walked away; kicking the skull of a fallen bandit upon his departure, the woman following hurriedly in confused silence.

* * *

><p>"Once you have washed up, find someone to work for. As a dock-hand or-" Fenris began to list a few jobs the woman could involve herself in, when he noticed Hawke dipping her feet in the water not far from where he was. Swallowing hard, he nodded his head at the slave woman and charged away.<p>

"T-thank you!" the woman called after him, and Hawke looked up to see Fenris' retreating figure. He weaved in and out of the alleys in the Docks, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He was not ready to face her, he needed to gather his thoughts and approach her when his mind was clear and focused.

Despite his insistent consolations, Fenris knew he was making excuses. His actions were inexcusable, regardless of how he had felt in the situation. Given a few days to mull over the events at Anders Clinic, Fenris had been plagued by his actions. Anders immoral possession was no excuse for doubting Hawke's trust in the abomination. If he were to settle his disputes, it should have been away from the party, where no one else could be hurt.

Seeing the familiar sight of Danarius' mansion before him, Fenris stormed into the housing and sprinted to the study. If he could lock himself away, perhaps Hawke would not find him and consider his companionship void. WHile it was not what Fenris wanted, he knew that he could not face Hawke. His time as a slave had taught him to be a coward; he couldn't atone for his own actions, hiding away like a frightened child. He clutched his head, complicated thoughts rushing through his mind.

The door to the study opened slowly, and Hawke peeked inside. At the sight of her, Fenris jumped to his feet; his heart beginning its marathon inside his chest.

"I wanted to talk to you," Hawke said softly to Fenris, an obvious expression of fear and surprise on his face. With the silence that followed, Fenris overcame his initial surprise but still awaited the oncoming onslaught. Hawke, observing Fenris' movements carefully, entered the room and closed the door behind her. When she removed her cloak, Fenris noticed that she had a new attire. Red robes, the colour of red wine, hugged her figure; the ends barely scraping the floor. He had not had the time to observe her new clothes at the Docks, but now she was radiant. Even with the sad expression on her face, she was beautiful; never had Fenris noticed her features so clearly as he did now.

Moving nervously, Hawke asked: "How are you?"

"I apologise," Fenris began, falling down to wine knee and bowing before her, "my actions were inexcusable. I am at your disposal."

"Fenris," Hawke said, the slightest hint of laughter in her voice. She didn't appear to be laughing at him out of humour, but because of his outward expression of apology. She kneeled before him, reaching out an arm and lifting his head to face her, "I understand."

Fenris, shocked at both Hawke's proximity and her admission of acknowledgement and ruled by his nerves, mistakenly said the first thing that he thought of; "You are beautiful."

At first, Hawke's hand edged away from his face and she held an expression of shock. But, as the effect of his words sunk in, she smiled widely and she blushed.

"You have gotten better," she said shyly. Fenris himself bared a slight smile to Hawke.

"Practice makes perfect," Fenris said, his tone flirtatious. The sound proceeding of Hawke's laughter made the fear he felt turn into glee. He lifted himself from the ground, extending a shaky hand to Hawke to assist her from the floor. She accepted, extending her own hand to him and he pulled her up. The image of their hands together stayed imprinted in his mind, and even after she had let go, Fenris continued to feel the smoothness of her skin. Without a word, the two seated themselves by the fire.

"I know your prejudices towards magic makes certain situations difficult for you," Hawke started slowly, careful not to offend her companion, "my own magical abilities must also affect you. If all of it is too hard to deal with, I will understand."

"As a slave, I experienced torture at the hands of my master and his friends. They would test their spells on me, turn my food to stone and control me with blood magic. I would see them associate themselves with demons, and possession of blood magic abilities was seen as a gift. Here, in Kirkwall, I have seen that the mages, though they are not so highly regarded, continue to abuse the power they are given and endanger everyone around them," Fenris explained, "I despise blood magic, not mages. I can appreciate the convenience of their power, but I cannot condone giving them too much freedom, as many would exploit it to turn to demons, to attain more power."

"I see," Hawke started, "Kirkwall is most likely the worst place you could go for experiencing mages who have succumbed to blood magic. In Ferelden, blood mages were scarce. Here, it appears that behind every dark plan, there is a blood mage involved."

"I will take your word for that. What would make Ferelden any different?"

"The Circle. In Ferelden, the Circle housed many mages. Apostates like me never dreamed of blood magic; unnecessary attention would lead to capture. My sister and I taught ourselves to fight off demons, using the knowledge of our father."

A look of despair passed over Hawke's features, the same as the look she had held on the night of Javaris' kidnapping.

"Hawke?" Fenris said, after a moment's silence had fallen over the pair. She stared into his eyes, her eyes glittering with tears that had failed to fall down her face.

"My father died three years ago. Bethany and I were then forced to hide our magic on our own. But, when we left Lothering, an ogre killed her in one fell swoop. In moments, the only person I could truly relate to was gone, and I was blamed for her death."

"No one could control what happened," Fenris said to her as a considerate friend, however his companion had regained most of her composure during the slight silence that had befallen the pair.

"I am sorry for burdening you with my troubles," Hawke admitted, wiping her eyes, "I have not spoken of Bethany's death with anyone."

"And I have not spoken of my time as a slave," Fenris comforted, "I am equally as guilty."

"Perhaps we are more similar than you think?" Hawke smirked slightly, pointing toward her outstretched hand were the smallest spark of lightning passed from one finger to another before dissipating. At first, he was slightly taken aback. But, Fenris then proceeded to scoff; amused, turning his head away from her with a smile on his lips.

"I suppose you are right," Fenris admitted; both to himself, and the radiant mage before him.

"I must get back to my mother," Hawke started, smiling affectionately down at the elf before her, "I want you to know that you still have a place in the expedition if you want it, only say the word."

Fenris stood to his feet and led Hawke by her arm to the entrance of the mansion; leaving them in comfortable silence, though Hawke awaited his response. As Hawke moved her hand to pull her hood over her head, Fenris bowed deeply before her.

"I would be honoured to walk beside you on your quest, and wherever else you would like me to go," Fenris said, staring at her with a look of sincerity, "I am yours."


	7. Expedited Expedition

**A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart**  
><strong>Chapter Seven - Expedited Expedition<strong>

"Walk with me," Hawke said to Fenris, as she met him out the front of his dilapidated mansion. Fenris nodded compliantly, and walked beside her. Down the stairs of Hightown they wandered, heading in silence to Lowtown. The day was just beginning, the sun perched over the horizon with the last remnants of the red tendrils spread throughout the clouds from the sun's rise dissipating from the sky. Fenris adjusted the haunting gauntlets adorned over his hands nervously. Being alone, in Hawke's company was unnerving. After their confrontation and admittance of apologies two nights before, Fenris had many opportunities to think about the events of the night as Hawke had rounded up the last of her business around town.

Fenris, though he wasn't sure what it meant, realised that her presence made him edgy and unnerved him. His hands would shake, and his stomach would become unsettled. But, despite the unpleasantness of his physical reactions to her, he still knew that there was no other place that he would rather be. The minute she would open her mouth to speak, he was eagerly listening to her. Whenever she wasn't looking, he caught quick glances of the expressions on her face. She mesmerised him. He even looked past her magical abilities. Now, when she cast a spell; one of healing, or one to damage her opponents, he no longer had to watch her to be sure that she was not falling to temptation. He trusted her, and felt that his trust was returned with her own.

"I'll just be a moment," Hawke said before Gamlen's house, "my mother is inside. You can meet her if you like, my uncle too. I need to talk with my brother."

Hawke walked ahead, entering the shabby house. Fenris observed the outside curiously. The door leading inside was old, weather-worn and breaking. The hinges were covered with rust, replacing the original colour of the metal. He entered as Hawke retreated with Carver into one of the rooms inside, closing the door behind her.

"Hello Fenris," an older woman called and approached him, "Hawke has told me about you. Glad to meet you. I am Leandra, Hawke's mother."

The way that Leandra carried herself so regally and the polite tone in her voice told Fenris that she was once a woman of great stature with a good upbringing. While her hair had gone grey, her face held little evidence of aging; barely a wrinkle adorned on her pale skin, besides the small crows feet that gathered as she gave Fenris a slight smile. He returned her gesture at greeting with a smile of his own.

"I am pleased to meet you also, ma'am," he said politely, bowing deeply before her to display his respect for her. She shook her hands before him, laughing politely.

"No need to bow to me, I am no noblewoman," Leandra fussed, "Gamlen, come and greet our guest!"

Fenris heard a scoff from the corner, muffled by the sounds of Hawke and Carver's raised voices from the other room. Fenris heard a whimper from beneath a table, reacting to the loud noises. A large mabari hound charged out from its resting spot to bark loudly, seemingly to reply at whatever it was that Hawke and Carver were talking about. With a moment of concentration, Fenris was able to hear what the two were saying, as their voices gradually rose in tone.

"I live in your shadow! I deserve the chance to prove myself!" Carver yelled indignantly.

"The risk is too high, I cannot allow you to come with us," Hawke reasoned, ensuring her voice was loud and commanding.

"You speak of risk like it is something to be avoided, yet you face it everyday," Carver spat, "Perhaps if you had thought about that when we fled Lothering, Bethany would be here."

After Carver's harsh comment, silence came from the other room and Leandra gasped slightly, putting a single hand over her mouth in surprise. The man in the corner, Gamlen, did not seem phased by the argument; he instead proceeded to read a book from his desk, facing away from Fenris' gaze. The mabari yelped and whined, scratching at the door.

"I am not changing my answer," Hawke said strongly. She left the other room, moving the hound away and slammed the door behind her. Fenris observed her expression; while he knew she was hurt, he could also see that she tried proudly to hide it.

"Mother," Hawke nodded in Leandra's direction and motioned Fenris to follow her in leaving the house.

"Goodbye," Fenris said briefly to Leandra, ignoring Gamlen in the corner before following Hawke hastily. Hawke continued on down the stairs outside of the house as Fenris closed the door carefully.

"Are you alright?" Fenris said concernedly as he hurried to keep up with her as she continued to storm away.

"I am fine," Hawke protested at his admission of concern, but her expression remained set, "let us get to Bartrand. Varric should be meeting us there."

* * *

><p>"Did you bring my money, human?" Bartrand said bluntly. Hawke, albeit reluctantly, handed over a soft leather pouch filled to the brim with fifty sovereigns. His expression brightened as he stared lovingly at the gold before him, chuckling gleefully before he regained his composure and stared up at Hawke with a look of superiority.<p>

"We leave soon, decide who you're bringing," Bartrand said bluntly before walking away into the Guild building. Hawke turned slowly to her companions standing around her. She fiddled anxiously with her hands, her eyes darting from one place to another. Fenris observed her curiously. Most of the people around him acted normally; remaining oblivious to the awkwardness behind the moments silence. Except Anders. Fenris noticed that he refused to look Hawke in the eye; he stood with his arms crossed, making a point of facing himself away from the group's designated leader.

"Hawke!" Carver yelled, entering the area at a run. Hawke sighed exasperatedly and turned to him.

"I know we have our differences," Carver said, keeping his voice low to evade the attention of the others around him, but to no avail. Their undivided attention was on him.

"And I know what I said was harsh. But you have to take me with you. I need to determine my own life, my own course. I want to make my own life," Carver pleaded ambitiously, "I want to prove to you that I can."

Hawke stood silent, her eyebrows knitted in concentration. She closed her eyes, rubbing her fingers over her temples and gave Carver a very slight nod.

"Don't make me regret it," she mumbled.

"Marian!" Leandra shrieked, the second addition to the gathering party.

"It's a family reunion!" Varric whispered, shedding some humour on the situation. But, his joke fell on deaf ears, as everyone was observing the encounter before them.

"You don't plan on taking Carver with you, do you?" Leandra cried desperately.

"He is his own man, it is his choice," Hawke proclaimed, standing her ground before her mother. Leandra's eyes welled up with tears as she stared deeply into the eyes of her remaining daughter.

"Please..." Leandra pleaded, "don't take him away form me. You and Carver are all I have left. I understand you wanting to do this, but don't take my baby boy away from me too."

"Mother, I'll be fine," Carver comforted his frightened mother. He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a warm smile. Leandra gave him a slight smile in return, but the worry lines around her eyes did not fade away. She was not convinced of his safety.

"I am trusting you, Marian," Leandra said slowly, her voice shaking as much as her hands. With a last attempt at a smile, Leandra wished her children farewell and stormed away, holding a regal posture.

"Are you bringing Fang?" Carver asked.

"No, I don't want to bring any more people than I need to. It was hard enough for me to get onto this expedition, let alone anyone else," Hawke replied coolly. She turned to her party members before her, giving their undivided attention to her, "as you have heard, I am taking Carver with me. Varric is compulsory, so he is coming too. Isabella, if you can, I need you to look after my mother. I know it's not your job to babysit, but I'd prefer her under your supervision."

"Can do, Captain," Isabela joked, winking playfully.

"Merrill and Anders, I would like you to remain here," Hawke ordered, "the more mages around the dwarves, the more uneasy they may become in close quarters."

"As you wish," Merrill said, bowing to Hawke graciously. Anders, however, remained poised away from Hawke and didn't look at her as he replied:

"I have better things to do," Anders hissed childishly. Hawke pursed her lips, but did not proceed to hound him about his attitude. Instead, she looked to Fenris with a slight smile.

"I would like you to come with me," Hawke addressed to him, "Sebastian has his duties at the Chantry, and your skills as a warrior would prove useful if or when we encounter Darkspawn."

Anders scoffed at her words, provoking Isabela to speak up: "Who's flown in your coop, cock?"

"Leave me alone," Anders said darkly, charging away from the group.

"What's up Blondie's nose?" Varric jested curiously. Isabela gave a little giggle before replying:

"The feathers, I think," Isabela laughed, motioning her hands to her shoulders, where Anders had feathers adorned onto his garments. Varric laughed also, an awkward silence between the remaining party members. As their laughs trailed off, Merrill stood up as though she was about to talk.

"He has some issues to resolve. It's better that he's away from us," Merrill spoke up somewhat proudly.

"Damn straight, of the glowing kind," Varric joked, laughing mischievously, before his expression became more serious and added, "he keeps the stories interesting, I'll give him that. I might give him a bit of a chat when we get back."

"That may be best," Hawke said distantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Are you all done yapping?" Bartrand demanded, "we're off!"

Carts of supplies rolled out from the Guild building, manned by a dozen dwarves to one. On some, there were simply empty chests and bags; supposedly for transporting any goods that were to be found. Hawke, Carver, Varric and Fenris followed the convoy after Hawke gave her last instructions to Isabela about her mother. A dwarf ran ahead, and opened the gates leading out of Kirkwall by petitioning the guard minding the gate switch. With a rusted creak, the barred gate implanted within the wall opened, and the convoy continued through. As the group began their trek toward the Deep Roads entrance, close to the Wounded Coast, the group mellowed and remained quiet; aside from the sounds of their feet on the ground and the cart's wheels on the uneven grounds.

The promise of riches led to the expedition, but the group couldn't foresee the outcome. Everything that each member of the expedition knew about entering the Deep Roads after a Blight was old wives tales, and stories from retired veteran treasure hunters. The true discovery could not be foreseen, nor could it be expected; the sights of gold and gems in the minds of each man, elf and dwarf blinded them to the possibility of an inevitably unfortunate ending.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I apologise, for the most part I felt that the characters were not true to theit true personalities. However, this chapter was mostly a bridging course to the further advancements in the story. If the characters seem off, I am sorry.


	8. Deeper in the Deep Roads

**A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart**  
><strong>Chapter Eight - Deeper in the Deep Roads<br>**

Before the convoy stood the entrance to a large tunnel, seemingly carved from the mountain itself. Shrouded in the shadow of the dirt mounds and scrub surrounding the cave, it had only been spotted as the group was marching past. Bartrand, holding the maps to navigate the tunnel, stood before the group with his arms crossed.

"Get ready for a rough trip, you lot of filthy nug runners," Bartrand bellowed as some of the dwarves before Hawke and her party snickered, "if you find anything worth it's weight in gold, load it in the carts. No exceptions. I will check your pockets before we leave."

With his demands stated, the convoy moved forward. Hawke, Fenris, Carver and Varric wound their way through the carts and various dwarves to the front of the convoy, watching cautiously for any sign of danger.

At first, the tunnel simply grew darker until the only light that remained was coming from the entrance, far off behind the group. As the dwarves began lighting their torches however, the tunnel illuminated quickly, every crack and ditch visible to all. For hours the group moved forward, growing accustomed to the smell of clay and dirt, sometimes damp and putrid. At the first crossroads, Bartrand demanded that the group continue on forward, before a few Darkspawn spotted the convoy. Limping irregularly and giving a small battle cry, the leader charged forward; spittle flying everywhere as he roared. Hawke sent her magic forward, fusing with the body of the Darkspawn. With one last spell, the creature exploded and damaged its allies around it. Fenris charged forward, fearless, as his body glowed a vibrant blue. With strong swipes, he tore apart a stunned Darkspawn with his large two-handed blade. Varric stroked Bianca, his crossbow, gently before loading the machine and sending arrows piercing through the skulls of the monsters before him.

Carver approached carefully, his sword drawn before him, gaining the notice of only one genlock. It approached slowly, its mouth seeming to cast a smirk at Hawke's younger brother. Carver, with shaking hands, sprung forward upon the Darkspawn, shredding its chest with his sword. The creatures vile blood spllattered over his clothes and covered his face, to the point that he could both smell and taste it. As the lifeless body fell, Carver wiped his hand over his mouth and spat into the dirt, returning to the convoy.

With a quick look around for more Darkspawn, Hawke yelled behind her, "there are no more!"

"Then what are you standing there for!" Bartrand yelled angrily, as the dwarves began to move again. No more Darkspawn were encountered as the group surged forward, stopping to make camp when the dwarves became tired.

"Get your bloody rest," Bartrand said irately, setting up a bedroll and immediately collapsing onto it. Many of the dwarves followed, grabbing bedrolls and food from the carts. Varric passed some apples and a bag of various other food items to Fenris and Hawke.

"I will take Junior to the other side of the camp," Varric said, "you and Elf here can watch the front."

Varric grabbed his own bag of food, slapped Carver on the back and moved through the settling dwarves. Fenris tentively grabbed his bedroll, aware of the attention he aroused from the dwarves around him. With Hawke behind him, the pair walked away from the group, enough that they could see around the bend that the tunnel cast. Fenris cast his bedroll out on the most comfortable looking piece of dirt he could find, adjusting a makeshift headrest and straightening out the sheets. Hawke, with considerable more grace, unfurled her bed roll not far from his before grabbing a piece of fruit from the bag. She tossed Fenris an apple as she ate a pear quietly, barely making a mess. Fenris stared at her, as she stared before her, watching the tunnel before her as though she were expecting something to appear.

"You can get some rest if you like," Hawke said to him considerately, still staring off before her, "you will need it for tomorrow, and the weeks to come."

"You need to rest, too," Fenris replied sincerely. Hawke smiled slightly and turned her head to Fenris.

"How are you enjoying the Deep Roads?"

Fenris shrugged his shoulders: "I have little experiences with caves, but the air is dead and the confining space makes me nauseous, more so than the putrid smell."

"I don't think that either of us would make good dwarves," Hawke joked.

"No, I can't say we would," Fenris said, chuckling slightly. He noticed that Hawke continued to look distracted, her mind deep in thought.

"Why did you take me?" Fenris asked Hawke, "the abomination would have served more use to you. He has been in the Deep Roads before."

"He makes me uncomfortable," Hawke bluntly stated, biting her lip, "after your scuffle in the Clinic, he sought me out and apologised. Knocked on my door for hour until I answered."

"Apologies make you uncomfortable?" Fenris questioned, confused at her connection between Anders apology and Hawke's desire to keep him out of her company.

"I came to visit him later, needed to get my arm fixed after a fight with a few thugs in Lowtown bothering my mother. He regarded me as a friend, and took my thanks as an advance. Spoke of my honesty, and how I am beautiful to him. He grew mad as I tried to divert his attention, claimed that he would keep things professional. His actions today just showed to me how childish he is, or can be."

"So the abomination has feelings," Fenris joked darkly.

"You really hate him, don't you?" Hawke asked as Fenris clenched his fist in anger.

"The mage is possessed. Spirit or demon, he is not his own person. He is a vessel; a mindless drone to the beings in the Fade. They could tear the Veil through him, if they wanted to," Fenris raged, as Hawke looked at him and absorbed his words.

"The idea is... Unsettling," Hawke admitted.

"People consider possession in the Imperium as a gift," Fenris spat, "Danarius used to pray that one day a demon or spirit would consider him a worthy enough host, when he was ready for it. The magisters didn't care how many of their own died outside of the Imperium, or how much damage they caused. Their damned hubris blinds them even now."

"You bare a lot of hate for your captors."

Fenris paused, attempting to calm the raging swell of anger within him. He felt the lyrium within his veins pulse, cold against his warm, rushing blood; "They are my captors no more. I am no slave."

"I know," Hawke confessed, "you are your own now."

"No," Fenris shook his head, "not completely. Not until Danarius is dead."

Hakwe nodded silently, casting a glance up the tunnel before her. After a few brief moments of silence, she turned back to him and said, "And I shall help you do it."

"Hawke, you are an astounding woman," Fenris said, calmed to his normal composure. With that last admittance, the pair said little for the rest of the night as they sat their patrol.

* * *

><p>The convoy had spent a week in the Deep Roads before they had reached anything that held proof of previous inhabitants. Covered in fallen rock and dirt, grand passages lined with intricately carved stone led the group to an old forgotten thaig. The walls were lined with raw lyrium veins, intercepting large, dwarven-crafted pillars. The thaig made the group nervous; all except Bartrand, who quickly ran over to analyse inscribings across the walls and structures.<p>

The trip had proven simple, with few darkspawn encountered along the way. Fenris began to believe that the tales were true, that the darkspawn trully left the Deep Roads basically barren during a Blight, with little to no reinforcements in the case of defeat. An all-out onslaught; while Fenris had assumed that to be the case, the strategical vulnerability of it had always flustered him. However, if the tale was true that the darkspawn left the Roads, what other superstitions in Thedas held some grain of truth?

"We need to look around!" Bartrand exclaimed gruffly as he moved forward, further analysing anything that he found. At his demand, the convoy set up a place to store their carts and grab their equipment for storing, removing and carrying objects.

"Let's go in further," Varric suggested to Hawke, Fenris and Carver as they stood away from the larger group, "the sooner we find something valuable, the sooner we can get out of this damned place."

"Let's go, then," Hawke agreed. The smaller party moved past the convoy and further into the thaig. Large iron doors, only able to be opened from the other side, were closed to the group. All the exposed lyrium made Fenris feel ill, the lumionous blue gases excreting from the lyrium veins being absorbed by the surroundings and giving them a faint glow.

"There is so much lyrium around," Carver stated. Varric, standing before him, scoffed and smirked at the younger Hawke.

"That's the Deep Roads, Junior. So much lyrium around that it'll drive you mad in a year."

"I thought you said you didn't live in Orzammar? How do you know?" Carver inquired.

"My brother used to tell me stories of lyrium miners that went crazy. Much like deprived Templars, in fact. His stories were never told as well as mine, but he tried," Varric chuckled.

Hawke, not paying much attention to the conversation between Carver and Varric, pushed on another door that the party encountered. Surprisingly, it moved backward, allowing them into the seperate room.

"That's a first," Carver stated as Hawke and Varric searched the room. Fenris stood by the door, ensuring that it did not close on them. Before the group, large stairs led up to another floor of the room, where a large altar stood. Surrounding it were thick pillars, softer than the dwarves usual creations. Varric approached the altar, his face glowing red from teh reflected light from what was on the pedastal.

"Have a look at this! Elf, prop the door up and come here, you have to see this!" Varric exclaimed excitedly. Fenris pushed the door backward, putting a heavy rock before it to keep it from closing before walking up the stairs to the object of intrigue. On the altar there was an intricately designed idol, glowing red and sparking remnants of lyrium from its surface.

"An idol?" Hawke asked, curiously observing the object. Bartrand entered the room, staring up at the party around the altar.

"Bartrand, we think we've found something. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think!" Varric shouted, "we should go on ahead and look for more."

Hawke picked up the peculiar idol, feeling the power it held. Momentarily, the sparks jumping from the objects harrassed her hand, jumping backward and forward from her skin to the idol. She quickly passed it to Varric, who then threw it to Bartrand.

"See you later at the camp, brother!" Varric called as the party moved forward. The sound of the door scraping across the stone floor made Hawke turn back to the entrance.

"The door!" she shouted, as the party ran for the closing door.

"Bartrand! The door closed behind you!" Varric yelled, banging on the door.

"You always did notice everything Varric," Bartrand shouted maliciously through the thick, iron door.

* * *

><p>".. we'll stumble across Bartrand's corpse along the way," Varric stated, the slightest inclination of anger in his voice as he joked about his brother. Varric, Hawke, Fenris and Carver stood before the ever-the-same tunnels of the Deep Roads, carrying loot they had collected in the treasury.<p>

"Another week shouldn't kill us," Hawke said sarcastically. The group trudged forward slowly, dreading the trip before them.

For five days, the tunnels remained the same; grand passages ruined by the stone they were carved into, made worse by neglect. the party was beginning to tire; they had had little sleep, afraid that darpspawn would charge upon them while they slept, despite posting someone to patrol throughout the night, taking turns to watch for any suspicious movement.

The ground suddenly changed from stone tiled floors, to simple, dirt paths; compacted for easy transport. The tunnel became smaller and more enclosed; no decorative pillars or etchings on the walls, just an ordinary tunnel.

"We must be getting closer," Varric stated, observing the change in scenery suspiciously.

"I hope so, I think I'm finally growing accustomed to the stench," Carver joked.

All of a sudden, a large roar reverberated through the tunnel; shaking the ground at their feet and sending loose rocks and dirt from the walls.

"That sounded promising,' Hawke said sarcastically when the shaking stopped, grabbing her staff from her back. the others quickly following, holding tightly to their weapons as they proceeded forward. Not saying a word to each other, they heard the sound of heavy breathing coming from further forward.

"Keep your guard up," Fenris warned and Varric raised an eyebrow at him.

"You don't need to tell me, Elf," Varric said bluntly, but with the underlying sense of Varric's usual humour. Fenris found himself anxious to find what manner of beast lay ahead; the sounds it made clearly not of any beast he had encountered before.

A sharp turn in the tunnels displayed the foul creature to the party. Before them, implanted into the earth and surrounded by its own tentacles, was a Broodmother. Freshly brewed darkspawn swarmed around it, snapping their heads to the direction of the approaching party. The mother roared again, spraying spit and blood in every direction, the rolls of breast and fat covering its body vibrating from the violent movement.

The darkspawn charged and Hawke sent them flying, sending force spells in their direction. Fenris and Carver charged straight for the Broodmother, as Varric and Hawke picked off the darkspawn. The mother's tentacles occasionally caught one of the companions, knocking them off of their feet. But they quickly recovered, destroying the tentacles where they got the chance.

One tentacle caught Carver off guard, as he was slashing away at the Broodmother's side, causing large gashes in her skin. The tentacle snatched him up from the ground, bringing him toward the Broodmother. She roared in his face, excreting spit into his face and mouth. He struggled against her limbs, but he could not escape them. She brought him closer to her mouth, opening her jaw; ready to eat the younger Hawke sibling struggling helplessly within her grasp.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I had intended on making this longer, but I have a thing for cliff hangers.


	9. Corruption Runs Deep

**Author's Note: **A thousand apologies - updates have been slow lately due to my exams. Studying takes up most of my time, and whenever I do get a free moment, I just want to sleep. And I realise that it was at a bad point for me to prolong an update, and for that I apologise again. But here it is: chapter nine!

* * *

><p><strong>A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart<strong>  
><strong>Chapter Nine - Corruption Runs Deep<strong>

With one last strike, Fenris dispatched the Broodmother; running his sword through her chin. She gurgled, blood seeping from the corners of her mouth, before she collapsed limply. He pulled his sword out slowly, the blood and black ooze sticking to the blade.

"Carver, are you alright?" Hawke asked concernedly, running to her brother lying wounded away from the battleground.

"I am alright, sister," Carver said calmly, but it was obvious it was hard for him to talk, "it is just a scratch."

"We will stop for camp soon," Hawke demanded of her party; bellowing the order like a general in battle. Fenris flinched instinctively as she shouted, hearing the conviction in her voice. Varric spun Bianca expertly within his hands, before attaching it to his back again.

"Sure, Hawke; lead the way," Varric agreed. Fenris ran to Hawke without muttering a word and aided her in lifting Carver from the ground. With one arm around the elf, and another around his sister, the group started off again with Varric keeping watch in front.

"I can't find anywhere accommodating enough for all of us... But here seems like the best bet," Varric said, pointing to flat ground before them, with only one entrance, and one specific space big enough to lie Carver down comfortably.

As Fenris and Hawke moved closer to the flat space of ground, Hawke turned her head to Fenris: "Do you have something we can use to prop his head up?"

"I am injured, not sick," Carver complained, groaning as he stepped forward on his injured foot.

"Stop complaining, Carver," Hawke bit back, her eyebrows arched as she glared at her younger brother before turning again to Fenris with pleading eyes. Fenris pursed his lips in thought.

"If I had my bedroll and my belongings, I would offer a shirt," Fenris stated. The look of disappointment on Hawke's face, flashing only for a brief moment, pulled at Fenris' heartstrings. After helping Hawke to set Carver down comfortably, he got up to walk away abruptly, without a word to his companions.

"Fenris-" Hawke started, her eyebrows curved in concern, but Fenris interjected:

"I will keep first watch."

"And I will watch with you," Hawke demanded, crossing her arms defiantly. Fenris did not reply; he simply walked away to the entrance. He heard Varric beginning to tell a grand tale to the injured Carver, hearing the distinct opening of: "No shit..."

Fenris and Hawke traveled further and further away from the camp, following the single occupancy tunnel they snaked around in an intricate pattern. When the tunnel began to widen, and the pair found a good vantage point to look for oncoming enemies, they stopped. Fenris leaned against the side of the tunnel and crossed his arms over his chest; admiring the structural integrity of their enclosure.

"We should be out in a couple of days," Hawke stated, "if everything goes to plan and Carver recovers quickly."

She sat on the ground across from Fenris, her staff in her lap. Her staff was intriguing; engraved throughout the wooden mage's weapon were various symbols and words, with a curved blade atop the staff. Hawke found a sharp and sturdy stone from around her, and proceeded to sharpen the small blade. Despite its size however, Fenris had no doubt it would cause considerable damage in melee combat.

"With his state, and the scarcity of our polituces, I think it may be a while," Fenris said darkly. The enclosed spaces were starting to affect his mood; with rock and stone around him constantly, he felt trapped and hopeless. These emotions then transferred to his social conversations, affecting him in general.

"The Roads are affecting everyone," Hawke started sadly, as though she read his thoughts, "I will be glad to be out of here."

"Yes, I too will be thrilled when we can leave this damned place," Fenris spat, nodding his head in agreement to her statement. Then, his brooding demeanor changed as he read Hawke's concerned face. She looked to be on the verge of tears; facing her head to the ground as her precise strokes of the stone across her blade slowed to a half-hearted banging.

"Carver is a valiant man," Fenris comforted, "he will persevere through his injuries, and you will both be home before you know it."

"I know he is strong; he is my brother after all," Hawke smirked slightly, a small joke from her lightening her mood for a few moments before she fell to anxiety again.

* * *

><p>Carver mostly recovered overnight. He could now stand and walk without any support, which meant that the party could set off again. Fenris and Hawke stood behind Carver, as Varric maneuvered the party through the tunnels. Days passed without incidence; no darkspawn or beast of the Roads ambushed the party.<p>

"We are almost there, I can smell it!" Varric called excitingly. Hawke sighed in relief.

"I always knew you were a bit of a dog, Varric," Hawke joked, casting a smirk at the beardless dwarf.

"Only for you, Hawke," Varric replied with a suggestive wink. Around them, the remains of an old thaig stood. Years of degradation had caused pillars to fall, and the floor tiles to crack and shatter. Each element of their surroundings, though old and forgotten, had been crafted skillfully to present the pictures of the old dwarven Paragons and their stories through pictures. There were words beneath each picture, in an old, dwarven script, that had not been seen for years. Fenris reached out, and ran his hands over the carvings; the time, effort and care that had been put into this masterpiece was astounding.

"Can we take a small rest?" Carver asked weakly, as he stumbled his way over to Hawke, "I... Feel wrong."

"It's probably those Deep Mushroom's we found," Varric joked.

"Of course, we can make camp," Hawke replied gleefully, her mind clouded by the possibility of returning home soon. When she saw Carver's face, however, the smile was wiped from her lips.

Carver's eyes appeared sunken; his veins prominent, showing through his skin as black and menacing tendrils of blood. It reminded her instantly of the symptoms suffered by Aveline's husband, Ser Wesley. Carver fell to the floor from exhaustion, and Hawke ran to kneel by his side. Varric, upon seeing Carver's face, and realising what the boy was suffering from, said nothing; simply stood in both shock and sympathy.

"I can feel the corruption inside of me. I'll be like that Templar, Wesley; just as dead, just as gone," Carver wheezed as Hawke held his head gently.

"No, don't let go, Carver," Hawke pleaded with her younger brother, "you will get through this."

"Hawke... I don't think he's gonna make it," Varric said sadly. He joined Fenris' side, feeling out of place beside the siblings during Carver's final moments.

"Hawke, listen to me-" Carver started, smiling as best he could at Hawke, "I won't make it to the surface. Will you be the one to... Kill me?"

For a moment, Hawke refused to speak. Fenris stared at her carefully, watching as she contemplated her options. Her eyebrows twitched, and her chin shook as she seemed to understand that Carver's death was inevitable. There was no way to escape it, no way to save the boy who lived in her shadow; unable to shine as a man. Carver appeared to grow worse before their eyes; his skin paling from it's normal, healthy shade. As his condition grew worse, Hawke's resolve strengthened. She would lessen his pain as much as she could.

"You always asked for the world," Hawke whispered nostalgically. Carver smiled at her reply, as Hawke fought away her depression.

"And you always gave it. I will miss you, sister."

Hawke pulled a blade from her boot, as Varric and Fenris watched her; unsure of what to say. At first, she studied it within her fingers; admiring the craftsmanship of the hilt, and the flawless blade, before looking up again to her loving brother.

"Varric; you have always been good to m-me," Carver spluttered to the dwarf, coughing up black blood. His cough seemed to endure for what appeared to be minutes; long and laboured minutes.

"I won't forget about you. I'll tell tales of you, Junio-" Varric stopped, but started again: "I mean, Carver."

"And Fenris," Carver started, addressing the shocked and confused elf, "you seem to do it now of your own accord, but I want to ask you to do something. Can you protect my sister?"

Fenris remained surprised. He had only a few conversations with Hawke's brother, but it seemed Carver had taken more notice of Fenris than he had thought. Fenris bowed to his companion and pledged; "I shall protect her with my life."

Carver smiled at him and turned again to his sister; "I'm ready."

"I'll see you someday, Carver," Hawke promised.

"I'll tell Bethany and Father you said hello," Carver grinned; his eyes solemn.

With a swift jab, Hawke plunged her knife into her brother's chest. At first, blood flowed from the corner of his mouth; both red and black. As Hawke lay his head to the floor, turning it slightly to the side to drain the blood, Carver managed his final words; "thank you, big sister."


	10. Enchanting Enchantress

**A Wolf's Pelt, A Hawke's Heart**  
><strong>Chapter Ten - Enchanting Enchantress<strong>

The sun's unyielding heat barraged the returning companions and their beaten-down travel partners. Hawke strode nonchalantly through the gate to Kirkwall, watching her feet as she brought one foot before the other. She breathed slowly; each movement she made was laborious, as she carried home the memories of what transpired on the Deep Roads expedition.

"At least things can't get any worse," Varric piped up, trying to break the lingering silence over the group.

"They can, I fear," Hawke said, almost inaudibly, "I haven't told Mother yet."

* * *

><p>Days turned into months, and those months turned into a year before Fenris saw Hawke again. She had become a recluse, only surfacing from her home for important solo missions and nightly stalkings of Kirkwall's dark corners. However, she did it all alone. No help was ever enlisted from her once trusted companions for her dangerous ventures. It seemed more and more suspicious, as her behaviour seemed to border on suicidal.<p>

Hawke had, as told by the illustrious Varric, stormed a bandit camp on the outskirts of Kirkwall in bright daylight. She lay siege, single-handedly, to the dirty scumbags who had stolen a little girl from a noblewoman's home. There had been close to one hundred bandits within that camp. Varric even mentioned that she managed to take on ten at one time. Although Fenris knew Varric had a tendency to over-exaggerate, his recalling of the true story after Fenris pulled the dwarf aside was almost mirrored by the one he boasted of. Varric had mentioned that this was one of the only stories he embellished only the minor details.

Fenris was curious about what was running through her mind. Were her thoughts of revenge, sadness, anger?

Fenris found himself following a familiar path to the dingy, smelly tavern; the Hanged Man. With nothing better to do, he spent most of his time trying to entertain himself there. He'd tried drinking the Aggregio in the cellar of his commandeered estate, but after spending his time constantly occupied with missions and companions, he found he grew lonely. Fenris gave a nod to the bartender as his eyes wandered to the solitary elf, as Fenris retreated to his normal corner. It was far enough away from the crowd to not have to be obliged to converse with the drunken squalor, but close enough that he could hear and observe the local gossip.

Fenris' ears pricked up, just as Norah the waitress handed him a cold brew of ale. He had heard snippets of two men's conversation, both uttering the name "Hawke."

"That sneaky minx!" one man exclaimed, "are her undergarments really made of feathers?"

_Feathers?_ Fenris questioned doubtfully, but continued eavesdropping.

"Yeah, they don't call her the 'Fury Hawk' for nothing, I'm tellin' ya!" the other man exclaimed, following with the clinking of beer jugs hitting one another in a celebratory toast.

Fenris sighed. What Fenris thought to be news of Hawke's location, was just a couple of horny men sharing their brothel experiences.

As though on queue, the door to the tavern burst open and a vibrant young woman strode in confidently; adorned in vibrantly decorated robes. Fenris gulped in nervousness; her long and illustrious locks of black hair, her slender and womanly figure and her warm azure eyes were unmistakably Hawke's. Everyone's eyes searched her; especially the sleazy, drunken men who frequented the Hanged Man.

As Hawke started her walk toward the tavern's rooms, a man called out to her in a drunken slur after facing his chair toward her: "Hey pretty lady! I bet you'd look even better on your knees!"

The man made a vulgar movement toward her as the men around him laughed. Hawke smirked at the man as she passed. She reached for the back of his head and thrust him toward the ground without breaking her stride.

"I prefer you on yours," Hawke called out suggestively over her shoulder as she continued on her path. The men turned their attention to the man on the floor, laughing boisterously.

Fenris let out a small chuckle that drew Hawke's attention. She flicked her head in his direction and the smirk was washed from her face, and replaced with an apologetic expression.

As her eyes caught Fenris', his heart sped up so fast that he could hear it beating away. He broke out in a dry sweat as their eyes locked. He felt his legs shaking involuntarily beneath the table accompanied by a sudden nauseous feeling. In his time away from her, he had forgotten how beautiful she was. All memories he held in his mind did not compare to her appearance in person.

Hawke broke their glance, and sped further away toward the rooms, disappearing from his sight. Even after he could no longer hear her hasty steps, his heard beat heavily. Fenris took a long chug of is ale, his hands shaking as he held the sturdy cup.

His first sighting of Hawke in a year, and she still enchanted him as much as she did the first time they met.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Yes, the chapter is a little short. But I am having a lot of trouble writing. What I want to hear from you all, my readers, is what you want to hear more of. When you read it, is there someone you want to see more of? Is there things that bore you? Do I spend too much time on something?

Let me know, and I can tailor make this story to meet the expectations of my readers, and make it that bit more enjoyable.


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